Free The Beloved Land by T. Davis Bunn Page A

grateful shipowners when he had returned from a journey laden with spices and profits. The scabbard was chased with silver, as was the twined guard to the pommel. Gordon had imagined he might be buried with this at his side.
    When the shopkeeper hesitated, Gordon laid a silversheathed dagger and a powder horn decorated in the same ornate style beside the sword.
    Gordon did not speak again. He merely pointed to the locked shelf. The shopkeeper misunderstood his silence as a threat and withdrew the pendant with a trembling hand.
    Gordon gathered up the goods, waited for John Jackson to unlock the door, and wordlessly stepped into the night.
    Though the wind remained damp and biting, the rain had ceased. As the two men stepped to the end of the narrow lane, the moon emerged from behind a cloud.
    Gordon stopped in the square and faced the newly discovered cohort. “I had entered the church where you found me seeking answers from God. And you, my friend, are the clearest evidence of a miracle I have seen in many a day. I feel in my bones that your coming here was ordained by our Lord.”
    Slowly Jackson lifted his gaze to meet Gordon’s. “You are speaking as your lady does, about—” he struggled for words— “about matters of faith.”
    “Yes, I am learning to listen to the voice of God.” Gordon clapped the man’s shoulder. “And I believe you are the answer to our prayer. Nicole has a piece of land west of here, granted to her by her uncle. Armies from both sides have swept through, razed the house, burned the fields, driven off everyone who once called the place home. I am wondering if you would be willing to go there and make a start of refashioning a homestead.” When Jackson did not respond, Gordon added, “This is not charity, my man! Who else might Nicole and I entrust with the responsibility? You can go and work at your own pace until your strength returns. The place should not be left alone through another planting season.”
    John Jackson studied the cobblestones at his feet, then raised his head and nodded slowly. “I am your man.”

Chapter 8
    Anne was seated in the small corner garden below the library window when Thomas and Charles came around the house together. She smiled at them and said, “England never ceases to amaze me. One day, all is midwinter bleak, and the sky so gray I feel certain the sun will never dare show its face again.” She waved her hand about her. “The next, and all the world is alive and green with the joy of new awakenings.”
    Neither Thomas nor Charles seemed to know how to respond. The older gentleman tugged on his embroidered waistcoat. Her husband finally asked, “What are you reading?”
    “The Psalter. King David reminds us to take shelter under the shadow of God’s wings. What a descriptive thought that is!” Anne moved to one end of the bench and motioned to them. “Why do you not join me? We can read aloud together.”
    But neither man made any move to accept her invitation. Anne looked into her husband’s face, and she knew then why they had sought her out, and why they had come together.
    But she held to her inner calm, the peace that had been a gift from God. “This was the last book I studied with Nicole,” she continued, “and this bench was where we had many wonderful discussions. It was here in this garden that I truly came to know my sister.” She smiled up at Charles. “I have never properly thanked you, Uncle. How wonderful it was to have this time and this place to know Nicole as both sister and dearest friend.”
    Charles lowered himself into the bench. “I used to look out upon the two of you from my library.” He indicated the window directly overhead. “I often have marveled at how different you two were, and yet how alike.”
    Anne moved closer to Charles, making space on her other side. She patted the bench. “Come, my husband, sit yourself down and tell me the news of our departure—information that requires two strong men to